She frowned. “Wait. Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” I set the picture back on the mantel. Was I missing something?
“You don’t know who my dad is?”
I glanced at the photo again, then back at her. “Should I?”
She regarded me a moment before a smile spread across her face. She seemed incredibly pleased by my response. “Nope.”
“Now I’m curious,” I said. “Is he famous or something?”
“Or something,” she said, but laughter bubbled out of her. “I take it you’re not a football fan.”
I shook my head. “I’ve always been more into soccer.”
“He used to play for the Hollywood Heatwaves. He’s a color commentator now.”
I thought back on our first phone conversation. When I’d been frustrated with rehab, and she’d mentioned how change could be a positive thing. And suddenly it all clicked—she’d been talking about her dad retiring from football.
“And apparently, he’s the key to keeping my job,” she sighed.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“My boss, Seth, wants me to get my dad to agree to do a biography for Igloo Books.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
We’d talked about her job occasionally, but mostly in general terms. Considering her success with Spines for Soldiers, I was shocked that her position was conditional on something so…ridiculous. On something that had absolutely nothing to do with her or her ability to perform her job.
“Fuck that,” I said.
“Yeah.” She laughed, but it felt like she was blowing me off as she returned to the kitchen for something else.
“I’m serious, Olivia. You don’t need Igloo.”
She rummaged in the cabinets, while I continued to peruse her photos. The next one was of Olivia and a redheaded girl about a foot shorter than her—both of them wearing flight jumpsuits.
“Did you go skydiving?” I asked, unable to hide the surprise from my tone. “Or was this taken at one of those indoor air places?”
She laughed, setting a plate with some cookies on the coffee table. “I can tell you think so highly of those indoor air places.” She mimicked my disdain.
I lifted a shoulder. “I just think nothing compares to the real deal. But somehow, I can’t imagine you wanting to jump out of a plane.”
“We went for my twenty-fifth birthday.”
“Surely that wasn’t your idea, though. It seems…out of character.”
“It was, and it wasn’t. Have you ever been?” She sank down on the couch, and I joined her. “Why did I even ask?” She rolled her eyes. “Of course you’ve been. It was part of your training, right?”
I nodded, distracted by her proximity, by her vanilla scent. We were talking about skydiving, but all I wanted to do was kiss her.
I cleared my throat and glanced toward Luna. “It is. Though it’s a bit different from jumping as a civilian.”
“Sorry.” She waved a hand through the air. “I’m sure you don’t want to talk about work—not when you’re finally on vacation.”
I leaned forward to take a sip of my water. “Doesn’t bother me. But I’d rather hear more about you.”
“God, you are smooth, aren’t you?”
I leaned back, draping my arm over the back of the couch. “Only with you.”
